The Fragile
by Nidia.Ceylon
Summary: What is a heart—is that which sits upon your plate, princess? –An AU Twisted Fairytale-esque—Now an Original Novel on Wattpad!
1. Beside the Milky Way

**The Fragile**  
>Pairing: Ulquiorra and Orihime with hints of Grimmjow and Orihime<br>Rating: M for language, Violence,  
>Genre: HorrorFantasy/Romance/Angst  
>Summary: What is a heart—is that which sits upon your plate, princess? –An AU Fairytale—<br>Disclaimer: I have disclaimed!

**Note: 1/06/2013:** I have removed the last two chapters to this story because I have rewrote it as an original story! There are more scenes and it will be longer! The link is my profile now!

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><p>…<br>Beside the Milky Way  
>…<p>

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><p>Orihime Inoue didn't believe in fate—because she held her beloved brother's fate in her hands.<p>

Her heart ached; twisting violently in her chest as another sky blue thread faded to gray. The many strands twisted into this one were far too few in her eyes. Her thin fingers reached out as she tenderly ran her fingertips over the thread. It was fading, there was nothing to be done—the time was near. Her hands fell away from the thread sliding downward until they brushed the wooden support of her loom.

_How cruel…_

Thunder roared ahead and she shut her eyes as she sat frozen upon her stool. Her wide grey eyes took in the thread, she reacted— swiftly, and gently she placed the thread safely into her small box. Her eyes took count of the items—two hair clips and _the _thread. She set the box upon the floor beside her stool and turned her eyes to the door when the thunder shook her dwelling. The door groaned and the room went silent. Deeply, she inhaled and twitched at a creak—maybe it was storm. The bamboo groaned as pressure caused a spider web of cracks. They stretched outward and she shut her eyes ; turning her head as the door exploded. Chunks of her barrier spewed onto the flow as a rush of heated air twisted in her dwelling.

Her eyes were drawn to debris and looked through her door. The heavens were beautiful—silken navy blue with silver specks. She could almost make out the Milky River; a perfect depth with a translucent bridge. The deck outside her dwelling groaned as metal scratched at the wood. The gruff sniffing and throaty snorts told her _he_ was here. _Cha-ink, Cha-ink—_his metal armor whispered with his great steps until he was there—filling her doorway with his dark form.

"_Princess!_" His mocking tone filled her dwelling with his greeting.

He entered without invitation, his iron boots gouging her floors. The scent of heated metal choked her lungs as the air thickened; he always carried the scent of hell with him. She supposed it was his job as Hunter. The only purity of color upon his outfit that could be found was his helmet. His armor obsidian and his helmet ivory, fashioned from the bones of his prey. Angular jaws and rounded skull; only his eyes were visible.

"Must you break my door every time, Grimmjow?" Orihime softly questioned as she looked to him.

He grinned, the corners of his lips stretching past the jaws of his mask as he queried, "Must you have a door? It seems pointless when you are secluded here."

His iced eyes watched her as his pupils focused on the way she openly frowned. Instead of replying, she held out her hand with her palm upward. Grimmjow reached out and placed his hand on her palm. She ignored the abnormal warmth of his palm as she reached up and plucked six strands of hair from her head. Orihime took back her hand and held her hair above the white strands upon her loom. Her eyes intensely focused as the hair melded with the strands; three strands turned gold and three turned grey. Grimmjow's short victory bark of laughter caused her to flinch.

Orihime drew the gold threads into her hands where she cradled them for a moment. Carefully, she snipped them from the loom and calmly waited for a change—nothing. The corners of her lips lifted, it seemed Grimmjow actually found three. She slowly turned upon her stool and the tips of her toes hit his armored feet. He lifted his mask and she couldn't help but gaze at the sharp fangs displayed in his smile as he held out his hand. The metallic tips upon his fingers gleamed as she lifted her hand and deposited the golden strands.

They harmlessly floated toward his palm before they erupted into flames, smoke twisted upward and the strings curled and vanished. Her eyes widened as he snapped his hand shut.

"The more damned the faster they burn," Grimmjow muttered with a grin.

Orihime paused in the silence, it was familiar. They had only shared this routine two hundred moons. It was awkward when he was first damned and she discovered her ability. Orihime took the three grey strands and carefully began to work them into the tapestry. The beginning lay folded and gently placed upon the bench on the other side of her loom.

"You'd think that'd be longer," Grimmjow mused.

Orihime smirked as she replied, "A single thread is all I need to reject and create fate; it doesn't take much."

Grimmjow snorted and she heard his metal armor whisper as he walked away. She watched him from the corner of her eye and saw him spare her a glance, before he left.

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><p>"<em>Sister."<em>

_She ignored her brother's weakened voice—no, just his voice._

"_What are." He paused as he coughed. The racking sounds made her flinch as if she were in pain. Her hand reached up and rested against her sternum. "…you doing sister?"_

_How could she tell him she was damned—cursed? Her gifts that were once smiled upon because of her weaving ability were now cursed and spat upon. How could she tell him their home was destroyed and the Huntsman kept them locked away for his personal used?_

"_I am making your elixir," Orihime sighed._

_She couldn't._

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><p>Grimmjow was not unkind—brash, temperamental, rude, obnoxious…the list continued. His slit pupils narrowed as if suspecting her thoughts. His metal tipped finger reached up and he picked at his teeth causing her to look away. It wasn't her fault—his curse. She knew the legends of The Hunt—if you were caught…well, don't get caught.<p>

"It's not that simple," Grimmjow grumbled as he held out his hand.

She didn't gather the souls from him, but the blood upon his hand. It would stain her with a touch and she would infuse it into her hair which she then weaved. Her eyes looked on sorrowfully as she hesitated; when children were born, parents would bring them to her. A drop of blood and she could weave them a beautiful future within reason. Grimmjow shifted on the edge of her table, the breeze snuck through the door chilling her feet. Dramatically, he had broken down her door once more.

"My mother was Leanan Sidhe." She heard rumors of such creatures, but tried not to get involved. Her eyes took in his features; hauntingly beautiful. "Humans can't lead the hunt—I didn't know killing the bastard would make me Huntsman."

There were different kinds of hunts; each god would host their own. Unfortunately, Grimmjow picked a fight with a Devil's demon and won. He undid the latches on his blackened chest armor and set them on the floor; another gouge added to her wood. A rough scoff escaped his throat drawing her eyes to him again. She took in the finely burnt number six etched into his side. He smirked, the right side of his lip curling upward in more of a sneer.

"So." The word trailed off and she knew what he was trying to ask. He wasn't the best at inquiring of other people, unless it was to taunt them of their impending death. Orihime knew he wouldn't kill her. His curse could end but only once he harvested enough damned souls to replace him. The problem was the devil hadn't told him how to deliver. She wove not just to create a peaceful, prosperous life, but she wove to recycle souls—if they could be. When threads turned gold they were destined for hell, silver meant destined to soul society, and grey meant she could recycle them. "You can see Reapers?"

Orihime nodded as the blood coated her hand. She repeated her cycle and found he slaughtered only one on his hunt; it was gold. She held it out to him and watched as it erupted into flames. A muffled scream echoed in her dwelling as she watched him sacrifice the soul to his keeper.

"You brought me nightshade and the other ingredients?" Orihime softly questioned.

Grimmjow sharply whistled; she tensed as she heard the sound of grinding. The creature stalked through her door and she scooted a bit further from her stool. Its eyeless sockets burned with the flames of hell as it stared at her. The fleshless panther held her requested items in his mouth within the bag. Her eyes darted to Grimmjow who arched a sharp icy brow—he knew she feared his familiars. He was kind enough to retrieve her items and keep her and her brother safe—but he still toyed with her. Orihime bit her lip in defiance tensing into a stiff board as the creature approached her. Its low growl rumbled into its chest as it stood nose to chest with her. Orihime's hand steadily shook as she reached out and gripped the cloth handles. The familiar released her items and moved back.

"Getting brave princess," Grimmjow teased as he grinned at her.

"Anything for my brother," Orihime stated.

Grimmjow snorted, "Fucking loyalties." Her eyebrows furrowed as he continued, "…if you were smart you would've killed him and taken off." He turned to stalk out of her dwelling, his hand caught the door frame as he paused and stated, "There are worst creatures out there than me."

"Not stronger right?" Orihime innocently questioned.

Grimmjow paused as he kept his gaze outside and grumbled, "Of course not." He didn't feel the need to tell her he meant crueler beings.

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><p>Ulquiorra Cifer was a curious being. His centuries upon the throne grew dull. The mindless chatter he easily silenced—opinions and suggestions were unneeded in the throne room. He disliked the idea of waging any type of war with the humans; they weren't worth the effort and killed each other efficently. If those of the Unseelie wished to harm or waste efforts, it was fine, as long as they didn't seek support for their efforts at this Midsummer's Night Meeting. He wouldn't tolerate it.<p>

Upon this night, he decided to leave his realm, venturing into the human's domain. The Hellequin was never successful hunting and to see his successor delivering a close to thirty souls a week was disturbing. He watched as the Huntsman left the small hut; it bordered the Heavens and the Otherworld giving it a view of the bridge to Soul Society. It was odd, such a location to travel to and from. The Milky River would soon recede and the bridge to Soul Society would be clear of the rapids for one night; it would be foolish for a being such as the Huntsman to be caught by Reapers. The Huntsman touched his familiar and Ulquiorra's ever observing emerald eyes watched as they melded together into one vicious creature. Grimmjow snorted smoke; he roared causing the Heavens to shake in fear and then took off.

Inside the hut, through the broken door he could see a light flickering. Ulquiorra approached; crossing black sands to arrive at the wooden porch. He couldn't help but think—_this is too peaceful a place for such a creature as Grimmjow to reside._

"Sora." His eyes narrowed at the sound of the whispered name, "…it's time to take your medication."

His expression remained neutral as he discreetly inhaled the air. Reapers smelled of death; the scent was distinctly like sulfur and methane—pungent. The Sidhe smelt of Earth since their realms existed in places below, between, and nowhere. Humans, their scent bothered him, it was something he could identify and not quite place.

_Scent of human—scent of the cursed._

A cough disturbed the silence and he stepped into the doorway. A curtain pulled back revealed a sickly figure upon a cot wrapped tightly in blankets. The other figure with orange hair sat with her back to him as slender hands brushed over the man's face. Glazed pale eyes looked to him and Ulquiorra easily recognized the man's ailment—cursed.

"Ori…"

"Ssh." She gently shushed his dry ramblings as she held a spoon to his mouth. "Time to take this."

Ulquiorra's emerald eyes focused upon the liquid in the clear cup. The iridescent colors swirled and sparkled as he sniffed the air—_Fae_ _blood_. He slipped out the door with ease and turned his gaze to the bridge.

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><p>Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez knew he was a cursed creature. The thought didn't bother him as much as it should. The centuries passed frustratingly slow until he met—<em>Orihime Inoue, the Princess Weaver.<em> His ice eyes narrowed as he roared; black skies rumbled as he descended. Splitting from his familiar, metal clad feet hit the ground singeing the Earth with the heat of hell. The corners of his lips curled as he spotted the caravan in the distance. His familiar rumbled beside him and he turned his head over his shoulder as his mouth opened wide.

"Pantera! Hunters!" He shouted as he threw his head back. His ivory mask glinted in the shadowed moonlight, "…bring me the souls of _every_ being!"

Smoke was left behind as he released laughter at his hunters' enthusiasm. They roared as they descended upon the humans. He moved forward, metal armor unhindered as his primal eyes sought out prey. The screams filled the air; a night chorus testifying to the horrors that filled the world. There was no pity in his eyes; he was once prey, but now was predator. His clawed hand shot out as he gripped the nearest human. The throat was torn out with a quick slash and he stood as blood shot across his armor. His grin turned feral—_one_.

Deeply, he inhaled the copper scented air as hell's smoke lingered above them all. The thrill of the hunt caused his heart to beat—hot blood pumped through his veins and coated his mask as he crushed another human's head with hand.

_Orihime—what would I do without you? What would you—your brother do without me?_

The thought of freedom itched at his mind like fleas upon a rabid animal. The sensation was constant and caused him indescribable pain. The longing to be his _own_ creature again was inexpressible.

_She can free me…_

The thought plagued his mind; eating away his sanity as the scent of blood tainted the night. He took a step and the ground squelched with the spilt life-force. The stretched smile of his mask continued to gleam as he lunged—_into insanity, the hunt, his damnation. _His laughter echoed over carnage joining the screams of the humans. He snarled; his hand tore through the back, gripping spine, and ferociously ripping it with a single pull.

…_and her brother will die._

His pupils widened at the thought; he wondered if she knew. If he was free of his curse then he would no longer be obligated to help her. He snorted as he passed by Pantera; jaws locked around a human neck and claws shredding muscle from bone. Grimmjow lifted his nose to the air; his eyes rolled back as the screams, scents, and death filled him.

_She isn't like these humans—deceitful._

_Maybe…_

The thought was dangerous, like a blade against the throat drawing blood. It prodded at him—tainting his purpose. Pantera's growl filled the air and he looked down to see his familiar—the manifestation of his damned soul glaring at him. He snorted as he watched Pantera snap the neck and drop the corpse. The silence communicated where words were unneeded, they were the same and it knew the betrayal in his mind.

Grimmjow smirked underneath his helm, it matched the skeletal grim of it perfectly—_maybe he was a sadistic bastard._

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><p>Grimmjow's expression remained neutral under his helm as he traversed the realms and reached Orihime's hut. His eyes took in the sight of the river and he scowled; he swore he saw a figure in the distance. Ignoring his delusions, he smirked; her door was fixed. Somehow, the woman always managed to fix that damn thing. It was false security and his metal boot against the wooden porch would alert her to the inevitable. Grimmjow raised his fist and prepared to slam it into the door when he tensed—<p>

His head mechanically twisted to the right as his eyes took in the being casually standing in the far corner of the porch. It was ironic in his opinion; the Unseelie King…King of Midnight wore white. His outfit was far more humble than the previous Queen. The woman liked to dramatically dress in frills and other shit he didn't care to name. The King of Midnight was as plain as the expression on his face—white billowy pants tucked into plain heeled black boots and a white over coat lined with black trim; his upturned collar tightly groped his throat.

'Fashionable bastard,' Grimmjow thought in disdain.

"What the fuck do you want?" Grimmjow snapped; voice loud.

The King of Midnight blankly stared at him and Grimmjow's mouth tightened at the expression. It wasn't like the King to leave his court. He never expressed interest in his subjects—punishment applicable when needed. It was also dangerous for him to be so close to the river this time of year. There was no doubt he didn't fear the reapers—but any idiot should be cautious. Grimmjow smirked—_bastards…I'll kill them all._ He brought Orihime and her brother here to keep them from gaining the attentions of beings such as the Court.

"Death is the penalty for consorting with humans," Ulquiorra evenly spoke; his expression bland.

Grimmjow spat with a twisted look, "I ain't fucking her!"

_Even so—I wouldn't._

He was a cursed and sadistic bastard, but he still held standards. The woman was helping him remove his curse—her payment a few more measly hours with her brother in a realm secluded from her own kind.

"You are giving her Fae blood—though tainted it is," Ulquiorra clarified. Grimmjow's eyes widened and he grinned. "Seelie—Unseelie are to leave no blood to the humans."

Grimmjow snorted, "But they can be cursed or gifted—but a little blood."

"That which defines us is not meant for defilement."

The fashionable bastard didn't look irked, but his tone held it all. Grimmjow was _the_ hunter and he caught the pitch. He could also hear Orihime stirring inside the hut; no doubt her curiosity driving her to come toward the door.

Grimmjow shrugged, "He's cursed; destined to die. If I can block the curse a bit—why not make the girl happy?"

"What interest do you hold in lover's relationships?" Ulquiorra demanded. "What gain is great enough to risk death?"

Grimmjow's expression went flat behind his helm. The King of Midnight was an ignorant bastard. The being truly ignored human affairs. Maybe it was better to let him think them lovers—he didn't know how the male felt about family relationships. Did he dare tell the King about Orihime's abilities—_Weaving Princess of Reality._

"Fuck off," Grimmjow mouthed off with a chuckle.

Ulquiorra's eyes narrowed the slightest as he moved. The door groaned and for the first time in centuries—Grimmjow felt panic seize his heart. The door swung open and Orihime's innocent head stuck out Grimmjow reacted as he held out his arm and blocked the King's diverted attack. Her grey eyes went wide and she sharply inhaled as warm iridescent blood flung toward her. She looked past the blood, saw the slender sword biting into Grimmjow's arm, and saw the ebony face of the King of Midnight. Malachite eyes gazed at her as reality caught up—warm iridescent blood coated her face as Grimmjow's arm hit the porch with a thud. The King drew back and lifted his nose before he simply vanished. Her chest heaved as the blood slid down her face.

"Fuck!" Grimmjow roared.

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><p>Grimmjow glowered at the floor as Orihime's delicate fingers molded his skin. He discovered another ability that was of interest to him. She removed a thread from the loom and strung it through a needle's eye. Vexed was too light a word to use—but Grimmjow was pissed as he held his separated limb to the stump as Orihime gently sewed it together. He didn't understand how this would help since he couldn't feel. He looked to her as she bit the needle free and watched as she tied off the end. Gently she ran her thumb over the stitched area and leaned forward—his eyes widened as she kissed the thread.<p>

"Wha—"

Warmth overcame the wound and he jerked his arm out of her grasp as he clenched his hand. His mouth opened to demand answers and he froze. Idly, he looked over to his arm and wiggled his fingers a bit before he made a fist. His ice blue eyes looked to Orihime as she calmly smiled.

"Grimmjow." He blinked as she simply asked, "…are you alright?"

Grimmjow impassively gazed at the woman as he questioned, "Do you know who that was?" He was wondering if something was missing in her head. She was targeted by the King of Midnight. Her eyebrows furrowed and he knew she was blank. "The King of Midnight."

Slowly; sheepishly she shrugged almost cautious as she meekly muttered, "Who?"

Grimmjow reached out and gripped her shoulders causing her to squeak and wince in pain. He shook her firmly as he growled, "The King of the Unseelie targeted you!" Her eyes went wide as he continued, "It's better to be dead than to draw his interest."

Orihime weakly smiled as she assured, "No one can be that bad."

Grimmjow growled and released the girl as he hissed, "We're fucked."

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><p>~TBC~<p>

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><p><span>Author's Note:<span>

**Note: 1/06/2013:** I have removed the last two chapters to this story because I have rewrote it as an original story! There are more scenes and it will be longer! The link is my profile now!

I hope you will check out the link in my profile and enjoy the new version as much as the fanfiction! ^^

If you fancy a story with more OCs and great concepts than please check out Black Firelight!


	2. Dissolved Girl

**Author's Note: Please read this...**

Many people asked for the completed FF, and here at the bits left of it. I have taken this story and turned it into an Original Work located on Wattpad. I ask that you head over if you've enjoyed this and check out what I have in the works. The novel is finished, but not fully posted as I am still editing!

~Thanks

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><p>Dissolved Girl<p>

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><p>Ulquiorra idly sat upon his throne, the cushions molding to his lithe and imposing form as if welcoming him. He was bored, but remained dignified as he sat and gazed outward. His expression schooled in apathy, his gaze lingered upon a subject declaring reasons for this personal summons. The Bean Sidhe, a banshee, was complaining about changelings, claiming her child had been switched with a Brownie—"<em>she couldn't birth something this hideous." <em>

He looked at her kneeling form clutching the bundle away from her; his thoughts rested upon the human woman between worlds and living by the Milky River as he saw his subject's grey eyes.

"My Majesty!" She groveled as she pulled the blanket from the hidden child's face. "Please do something!"

_Trivial—_the word echoed in his mind.

"What would you have me do?" Ulquiorra calmly questioned back. "I am King of the Unseelie Court, not of paternal affairs. I rule the darkness and all who dwell within the shadows; is this child a threat to the court?"

"No, but—"

He ceased her ramblings, "Will it ever be a threat?"

"No…"

Sweat beaded upon her ivory skin as her amethyst pupils dilated highlighting her grey eyes. Fear clenched her heart as her _Majesty_ sat upon the throne without as much as a twitch. His eyes darted to the child then looked beyond her. A sharp gasp escaped her as a shadow cast over her, blocking the candlelight above. Slowly, she turned to gaze over her shoulder with a single eye. The tall figured leaned forward with a mocking smile showcasing his upper teeth as his single eye menacingly gleamed. She focused upon the eye patch to help ease her fears.

"The solution is simple." Ulquiorra stated as the Sidhe's hands trembled with each word. "If you don't want it; rid yourself of it." Her eyes went wide as the man behind her snickered…_stupid bitch…_words hissed behind her.

"You want me to kill it!" She shrieked.

His tone was tainted with the slightest bit of annoyance as he restated, "No. You want it gone and I want you gone—you have wasted this court's time."

He thought of his concern—_the human and the Huntsman._ They were a matter he couldn't allow to roam free. The Huntsman was dirty blood, but no matter how tainted, giving Fae blood to a human wasn't allowed. The last experimentation with their blood led the humans to discovering they were weak to iron.

_What is he gaining from her?_

Chilled eyes turned to the rambling woman as he realized Nnoitra held the blade of his doubled crescent axe to her throat. The woman's child held in his hand by its foot was screaming. There was no mistaking that it wasn't the woman's creature. _Even though it shrieks like her._

"Make the right choice," he warned her as Nnoitra dropped a blade beside the woman.

The silence was deafening as Nnoitra chuckled behind her. He loosened his hold on the woman a bit and watched as her hand wildly, blindly grabbed for the blade. A sneer escaped his lips as he dropped the child into her lap.

_How boring,_ Nnoitra thought as he watched the blade rejoice in blood.

She scrambled backward into his legs and the blade fell; iridescent droplets stained her hands and the court's floor. Tears filled her eyes as she looked to the King and saw his expression hadn't changed. If anything, his pupils narrowed.

"Infanticide is punishable by death." Ulquiorra stated as he watched the tears cease. The stunned look upon her face was ruined by her trembling pleas of misunderstanding.

"Stupid bitch," Nnoitra loudly laughed as his weapon took her head from the neck. It was a clean cut that sent blood slicing toward the foot of the throne. He grinned as her mouth continued to open and close as it fell to the floor. Her body slumped and all went silent as he lifted his beady gaze to the King of Midnight. The King stated he wanted her gone—_not the child._ A snicker escaped from his teeth as stared at the bodies and then to the King.

His expression was hard to read, but even Nnoitra could see the King was distracted. His mind was occupied in places far from here. He arched a brow over his visible eye and wondered if he dare ask questions. A pause, he didn't dare. After all, he did value his life and wouldn't want to die—he glanced at the bodies—so pathetically.

"Nnoitra, the warriors are prepared for the Midsummer Court." Ulquiorra calmly stated as his gaze focused on his current reality.

"Of course," Nnoitra assured. It would be foolish to fail and answer with doubt. Doubt meant death. He grinned, the only death would be those that wasted the court's time.

Ulquiorra rose to his feet and moved three steps down onto the white tile floor. His eyes took in the corpses and watched as the iridescent blood glimmered in the candlelight. If she weren't already dead, he would have her taken out and slaughtered in the field for wasting his servant's time. It was inconsiderate to leave a body lying around.

"Take care of this," Ulquiorra ordered as he swiftly moved out of the throne room.

Nnoitra followed the King with his single eye and waited until he fully left the throne room. When the footsteps were silenced and the air was still he spat at the floor, the liquid hit the head of the woman.

He sneered, "I can't stand that prick." His eye hardened as he glared at the body. He kicked the head and watched as it spun through the air—streaking blood until it smacked the throne's leg. "Inconsiderate bitch should've killed that brat at home." Now he had to find a lackey to pick up both bodies—_wait a waste of time._

Orihime calmly sat upon the bay of the black sands. Her eyes watching creamy rapids lap at the bridge that connected this realm and Heaven. She often wondered what would happen if she should try to cross into that realm—_brother._ Death was not a thought she entertained for the fact she couldn't leave Sora while he still lived. Even if he wasn't living, she wasn't weak enough to end her life. Despite being hated, she desired to help others. Her fingers twitched, the urge to weave weighed heavy. A sharp whistle caused her to tense as she looked around. The sands were dark and the evening undisturbed. Calmly, she directed her gaze across the bridge and lifted a hand.

_Can he see me?_

She squinted, looking for that distant speck of familiar friend. A sigh escaped her lips; maybe when the rapids ceased in the coming nights she might see her old friend. A soft crunch, a shifting of grains told her someone was upon the sand. Their approach was silent, but she glanced over and her eyes widened.

_It's him, _Orihime thought. A few nights passed and the King of the Unseelie Court stood before her. She faked her ignorance with Grimmjow, refusing to worry him into something brash. Her brother couldn't be moved impulsively with his condition.

"What can I do for you; your Majesty?" Orihime questioned calmly.

"You know of me," Ulquiorra mused more to himself.

Orihime smiled and replied, "I know of _legends—_of Goblin Kings, Youkai Lands, and Reapers." She kept her tone docile and tried to hold back the familiarity she used with Grimmjow. Judging by his expression, he wasn't one for expressions. If the King was a threat, she would make more of a fuss and urge Grimmjow to relocate them.

"You must know you can't escape me," Ulquiorra simply stated as he watched her thoughtful expression become shocked. "It is instinct to want to run, but futile if you try."

He stood between her and the house—_brother_—but she held in her worry as she once more questioned, "What can I do for you?" Formality lost in her slighted anger at this creature.

"As I told the Huntsman, to give you Fae blood no matter how tainted is deplorable and punishable by death," Ulquiorra pointed out. He didn't need small talk, because there was no point in offering comfort to a lesser being.

She was silent as she sat upon the black sands. Her hands idly dug into the grains as she sighed and glanced away. It was the first time he took notice that she wasn't dressed like a normal human. Her outfit was befitting that of royalty. In fact, his eyes narrowed upon twin silver clips with black stones within her dark hair.

"I know the Unseelie Court doesn't deal with human affairs…but I would request one thing." Orihime softly said as she met his gaze. Curiosity drove him to listen to her words. "My purpose for Fae blood will end soon enough, but allow me one more week with Grimmjow."

Ulquiorra' eyes narrowed as he asked, "Why is he so important to you?"

Orihime simply smiled and replied, "I can't control matters of the heart."

"One week and your life shall be mine," he stated as he turned his back to her. The conversation ended as abruptly as it began. The concept of the heart—_foolish._

Orihime silently watched as he walked away from her. His body dissolved into shadows that were lost to the ebony sands. She clenched her hands and knew her time would be bitter. At least, she would help Grimmjow end his curse and get a few more moments with her brother—she had been greedy enough. Grimmjow's blood only prolonged Sora's pain.

Grimmjow's eyes narrowed as he watched her fingers work. Her finger-pads were raw as she continued to loom. Without breaking her pace, she handed him the golden strings and ignored the process as he sent them to Hell. Finally, she turned and looked at him.

"How many more?"

Grimmjow snorted and growled, "Bastard keeps demanding more—_more_." He spat outside her broken door and muttered, "Prick."

"What will it take to free you?" Orihime sighed as she shut her eyes.

"Hell if I know."

He grinned at his own pun.

She wasn't peppy.

Granted, her brother was dying, but that usually didn't keep her spirits down. The girl found a way to smile and bounce about. Yet, her fingers lingered on his palm as she drew out the souls from his hunt. It took a moment, but eight gold threads later had her sighing as she smiled at him. That made a hundred souls this week.

Grimmjow ignored the threads as he narrowed his pupils at her. Orihime's lashes fluttered against her cheeks as she focused. He snorted; it seemed she came back from whatever dream she was lost in. He huffed as he held out his hand and she released the souls.

"There!" Orihime happily spoke, "All done."

The sound of hissing filled the air causing her eyebrows to furrow. Grimmjow's lips curled until his teeth were revealed; the hissing ceased and the floor shook. Orihime moved past him and glanced out her door as the explosion went off. The darkness was splashed with reds and oranges as the black sands kicked upward. Her eyes widened as the cloud of dust rushed toward her. She pulled inside as Grimmjow's laughter filled the room.

"I knew that bastard would come back!"

He moved out the door as her eyes widened. _Had a week passed already?_ She rushed toward the curtain that hid her brother and then shook her hands as she headed back toward the door. If Ulquiorra had indeed come to claim her life then she would go quietly. Her time with her brother was at an end and she was sure he'd kill her brother as well. Orihime turned back toward her brother, quickly crossed the distance to push aside the curtain—his skin pale and beaded with sweat. The curse was going to take him. It was a matter of moments.

_He is the curse…_

Orihime's eyes hardened despite the tears. She didn't want to believe her father's words—_we aren't a curse. _It wasn't her fault father had fallen for the wrong woman. Reaching down, she soothingly hummed as she ran her thumb over his cheek. Fluorescent white light illuminated the cracks of their home and she gasped as she lifted her gaze. The light became brighter, a gust of wind extinguished the candle flames and she was left with the light and shadows. Orihime reached down and flipped open her box and tucked her brother's thread into her bosom. The clips handed down from their mother were tucked within her hair.

Shadows passed over the light and the wood groaned before she exhaled and the wall imploded. Debris exploded as flash of black and white ignited in her gaze and crashed into her loom.

"Grimmjow!" Orihime cried out as the light faded.

Maniacal laughter caused her skin to crawl as she watched the lithe figure lurk into their home. His booted foot crushed the crumbling remains of the wall. The shadow his weapon cast caused her to hesitate, but she moved toward the fallen Huntsman. Her eyes widened and hands flew to her mouth as she saw the damage; flesh and muscle hung from his body like scraps of meat. She winced at the sight of iridescent blood coating her floor and loom; it sparkled like crushed diamonds. There had to be action, she had to react. Orihime touched his skin and met blood, it slicked her hand and she screamed as something gripped her hair and harshly pulled her backwards.

"No use mourning the dead!"

Pain flared in her scalp as she squeezed her eyes shut; her world spun and then everything halted as she crashed into the opposite wall. Wood protested and she smacked into the floor with a groan. Her hands twitched, nails dug into the wood as she struggled against the pain her entire body was feeling.

_Killinan…her brother—she was needed and couldn't be helpless._

Her eyes opened and the room spun—_that creature—_his smile stretched as he blurred in her vision. Reaching out blindly she grasped a fallen spool of thread, the entire thing smeared with Grimmjow's blood. Orihime pulled the string watching as his blood absorbed. The sound of debris crunching under foot told her their attacker was approaching. She quickly ripped a string off as she pushed herself up and held the thread in both hands. Eyes narrowed, she gazed past the thread and at her grinning attacker.

"Unravel!"

The string ignited and disappeared; dust fell to the ground.

Nnoitra snorted, "That was useless."

"Tsk, tsk, think again dumbass."

A tooth flew and blood sprayed from his mouth as Nnoitra was sent flying. Grimmjow cracked his knuckles and spat on her floor causing her to scowl, her hut may be ruined, but it wasn't to be treated like trash. His eyes focused on her before he nodded and lunged at the rising man. The crescent weapon swung outward and Grimmjow snarled as he ducked and continued forward.

"Same trick, but I'm not a dog!" He snarled as he snapped his fingers. The growl echoed over the chaos. The wall Nnoitra was against caved in as Grimmjow slammed into his form. Orihime could only watch as his familiar appeared and slammed into Grimmjow; the melding was instantaneous—his form monstrous as his thick skeletal gloves targeted Nnoitra.

Orihime struggled to her feet and silently held in her groan. Attention was one thing she didn't want, her eyes focused on the battle and then shifted to her ill brother—passed out from the curse.

_What do I do?_

"You prolong their pain." Sharply she inhaled as she lifted her gaze as he—_the_ _King of Midnight _stood silently in the shadows. "I have come to claim your life—not deal with such pettiness."

"Why did you attack him then?" Orihime questioned.

"Why did he set traps?" Ulquiorra questioned back causing her eyes to narrow. She couldn't answer, he shouldn't have, but _he did._

"I—I don't know," Orihime admitted; confusion in her tone.

She winced and looked back outside as Grimmjow's claws clashed against the metallic blade. The sparks and screeching caused her heart to stall in fear. She worried for his life as the crescent blade sliced his leg.

"His insolence will get him killed," Ulquiorra stated as he watched the battle.

"Why prolong this fight? Simply take my life and leave him be." Orihime pleaded as their gazes met. Her black eyes remained calm as she asked, "…or is he really worth your time?"

He silently regarded her as she stood there gazing at him. His eyes trained on the clips tangled in her hair. He softly exhaled through his nose and took a step toward her—six feet gone in a single step and he glowered down at her. His slender fingers reached out and she held her breathe as she kept her gaze on him.

Death was staring her in the face and she wouldn't back down. Her heart pounded in her chest and instincts told her to flee. His fingers were chilled as they traced the line of her throat. Would he choke the life from her or maybe he would simply slit her throat and repay blood for blood. His hand fell away and she took the chance to step back. The battle raged on and she winced before she fell to her knees. Her fingers touched strings scattered upon the floor and she looked over at the battle

"Why save him?" Ulquiorra questioned.

Orihime licked her lips gently answering, "My heart tells me it's the right thing to do."

Ulquiorra didn't speak as he slowly faded into the shadows. Her eyes widened at the action and she wildly searched for him—_would he suddenly strike._

"Damn!"

The curse snapped her back into reality as the crescent weapon cleaved into his side. A rough jerk and blood sprayed into the air. He was so close to freedom and now he was fighting—_why?_ She hissed through her teeth and her fingers clenched the string. Her heart pounded, urging her to react. Another slash painted his chest and she got to her feet and took off. Stumbling over debris, she caught herself as determination flooded her veins. Grimmjow's narrowed gaze focused on her and she could only gape at the blood painting his body.

Nnoitra lifted his weapon; she had to react.

"Grimmjow!" Orihime called out.

Nnoitra stumbled in his attack as he glanced over his shoulder. Orihime slapped her hand against his wounded chest. The back of his hand snapped against her face; her jaw cracked and teeth clacked as she was smacked into the ground. Rocks bit her skin as she rolled and stumbled; tightly she kept her hand clenched.

The spinning sensation caused her to heave; a dry sound racking and gagging her. Orihime touched her bloodied hand to the thread and she inhaled. _I never wanted this gift—this curse; mother._ His blood soaked the thread.

"I'm going to shove your guts down your throat!"

Her eyes widened as the blade came at her. Scrambling, she was too slow. Her nails clawed at the dirt and her heels slid as the desperation to move made her fail. The gasp escaped her and shadows fell over her as the blade descended—a hoarse grunt and diamonds graced her face.

"Just going to sit around, _Princess?_"

"Why?" Orihime gasped as the weapon bit into his crossed arms.

Grimmjow grunted, "Some crap about hearts."

"Face me when I kill you!" Nnoitra demanded as he drove the blade deeper.

Grimmjow gnashed his teeth as his muscles burned with exertion. The pain dulled long ago, but the warmth of his blood coating his arms told him he would die here.

"Keh, I'd rather see shit than your face!" Grimmjow spat.

The blade sawed partway through bone. Grimmjow fell to his knees as he struggled; the blade was a hair away from his face. Orihime reacted as she gripped the thread and held it tight. Her eyes narrowed as cried out, "Loosen thee from thy threads of fate, unravel time , make it undone!"

The thread ignited gold as Nnoitra's eyes went wide. His skin glistened gold and she watched as his flesh dried and twisted. His weapon was smacked away by Grimmjow as he screamed and clawed at his dehydrating face. Orihime blinked back her tears as she shut her eyes and covered her ears as his screams filled the field. Her breathing was erratic as she tried to ignore the sounds and the realization of her actions.

She rasped as a large hand settled upon her shoulder. The thread in her hand was gold and she quickly dropped it as she scrambled backwards. Grimmjow weakly snorted and chuckled as he leaned down and picked up the thread between his claws.

"The meaning of life is shit if you see it as a piece of thread—not much worth," Grimmjow mused. His sharp eyes darted to the woman on the ground staring at him. He bared all his teeth as he assured, "_Princess_, I'm touched!" His barking laughter surrounded her, "...but you shouldn't waste your heart on killers." That was the closest she would get to a thank you.

He didn't speak as blood trailed down his face, but the thread erupted in flames and he remained silent. Orihime weakly blinked as he kept his back to her. She watched his familiar peel off of him leaving him more humanoid. When he turned around, the number carved into his flesh was gone. He threw back his head and wildly laughed. The pain in his arm arms ignored as he rejoiced.

_Freedom._

His celebration caused her heart to settle, but emerald eyes gazed at her from the shadows. Orihime froze as terror consumed her soul. A familiar slender hand reached out and touched her throat. _He_ was going to take her life now.

_"Where is this heart princess?"_

The world faded of sound.

_"What does this _heart_ tell you now?"_

Coldness laced her skin.

_Is this death?_

Slowly, her eyelids peeled open and she knew this was not death. The walls were bathed in white, the floor pristine enough to reflect her visage, and there stood Ulquiorra observing her with no expression. The carnage of the battle was gone and so was everything she knew.

"I thought you wanted me dead," Orihime whispered.

"I can't have your life if you're dead."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

I still have one more chapter to find

Please stop by Wattpad (link on profile) and check out the Novel I've turned this into if you've enjoyed this!


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